


Water, Blood and Song

by Brillador



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid Fusion, Gen, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Little Mermaid Elements, M/M, Mermaid Alucard, Multi, Multiple Crossovers, Rescue, Sirens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 14:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16641627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brillador/pseuds/Brillador
Summary: Little Mermaid AU. A hunter of sea monsters is rescued by the last creature he expected or wanted to be saved by. Their meeting brings up questions and feelings neither is quite ready to face.





	Water, Blood and Song

The first feelings Trevor grew aware of were a sharp pressure on his chest, fire and water in his lungs, and a screaming need to breathe. He rolled over and clenched from diaphragm to shoulders. Salt water spurted like a geyser from his mouth, and his guts didn’t feel far behind.

While shaking, vomiting, coughing, and believing he’d never get air again, he registered the pervasive throb of pulverized muscles. Broken bones? Possibly. Soreness protested any interest in moving and checking what parts of his body still worked. This was about ten times worse than the most severe ass-beating he’d experienced in his life. That was saying a lot.

What happened? Had a horde of drunks trampled him, then dunked him in the sea? No. The memories came up like submerged logs in a marsh. A mob didn’t hand his ass to him. It was courtesy of a fucking gunpowder explosion on his ship. A ship that was sitting at the bottom of the ocean now, some ten miles from shore. One of his family’s prized monster-hunting sloops.

Fuck. How pissed should he be that the Morning Star was sunk when he wasn’t?

Before he could give himself a mental wallop, Trevor noticed other things: his soaked clothes and the spiky seaweed trapped in them; the sand sticking to face; a hand rubbing his back. The coughs and seawater kept coming, so he couldn’t ask the person beside him anything for another minute.

It could’ve been one of the crew. He remembered, one bleary fragment after another, being the last person on the ship.  A storm jumped them on their way back to port. Bad enough that waves smacked them around like kids with a ball, but a goddamned lightning bolt hit the mast and set the fucker ablaze. Sails turned to ash in minutes. The flames spread fast. He ordered everyone to the lifeboats. It wasn’t a big vessel—you needed a sleek number to track krakens and merfolk—so the two lifeboats were loaded up quickly. But the disaster unfolded with such speed that he did not account for getting his own ass to safety. And a cabin boy was hiding below deck instead of running to the railing or the lifeboats. He hauled the boy up top and got him to the ship’s keeling side, right as something hot and large came down on them. Trevor mostly jumped of the way. One foot snagged on a loose plank or something. He pushed the boy up and over into the rolling water. The lifeboats, already lowered, were near enough to retrieve the kid.

Then the fire reached the crates of gunpowder in the hold. A giant punch to every inch of his body.

Somehow, he was still alive. _Not for the better_ , said every inch of him. “Oh, God,” he mumbled when he could finally fill his lungs with something other than water and mucus.

“Either God really loves you,” murmured a smooth voice next to him, “or I’ve royally pissed Him off.”

That voice didn’t belong to one of the crew members. No offense to them, but anyone would’ve sounded like a smoke-lung wretch compared to this stranger. His voice summoned the image of a lonesome cathedral at dusk with richly saturated but dim sunlight pouring through the tall windows into an otherwise cool, marble chamber. Trevor’s ears started singing. They told him what sort of person, or creature, had a voice like that.

God didn’t love him right now.

The creature was rubbing circles on Trevor’s back, and shit, for all the pain, it did help a tiny bit. With trembling arms, Trevor turned to lie flat, facing up. His back didn’t appreciate it. A film of tears covered his eyes. Even if his eyes had been clear, he wouldn’t have seen shit. He was lying in a small cave on a beach. He could hear but not see the waves crashing on the nearby shoreline. The sky outside was black, moonless. No sign of civilization on the beach. No ship’s torch lights on the horizon. Only the stars gave illumination that snuck into the cave for two creepy, yellow eyes to reflect with their _tapetum lucidum_.

Trevor looked for the creature’s mouth in the shadowy blur that was probably its face. Nope, too dark. He forced his hands to check his belt and baldric. Nothing. Goddammit.

“I’m afraid your knives and whip were … lost.”

 Trevor let his arms fall with a grunt. “Convenient.”

“It’s just as well. They were weighing you down in the water. You have no need of them now.”

“I’d like to disagree.”

The creature moved closer. It was propping itself on one arm, Trevor guessed, so it could look down on him. The eyes flicked back and forth. “You really want to kill me?”

“Why haven’t _you_ killed _me_? Like playing with your food?”

“If I did, I don’t think that would be justification to save my food from drowning. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Didn’t ask to be rescued.”

“I’ll remember that next time.”

He could’ve grappled with the creature—siren, merman, sea-demon—without his weapons, if only he weren’t so fucked up from the blast. He preferred fighting over talking his way out of being a meal. Most of the times Trevor relied on words to elude trouble, he still ended up with, at the very least, a fist to the face.

Fangs to the neck would be a first. Should be interesting.

“What happened, exactly?” he asked.

“Your ship was caught in a storm. Then it blew up. You were still on board when it did.”

“What about the rest of the crew?”

“Last I saw them, they were in those smaller boats heading away from the wreck. I expect they’ve landed or will land within a few miles of here.”

“Should’ve been a nice buffet for you.”

The siren exhaled through its nose. “If I haven’t killed you now, I’m not interested in eating you.”

“Why not? Not appetizing enough?” Trevor tried to turn onto his side toward the siren. Hundreds of talons seemed to be hooked into his flesh.

The siren huffed. Then a hand touched Trevor’s chest. The fingers pulled at his shirt.

“W-wait.” Even inching backward hurt. “What are you doing?”

“Taking your clothes off,” the siren said. So matter-of-fact. Like this wasn’t already fucking weird on five different levels.

Trevor grabbed the siren’s hand, weakly. Its skin was cool but not frigid. “Why the fuck—?”

“Do you want to die of hypothermia? We need to remove your clothes if you hope to survive the night. I take it you’re too injured to move anywhere. And … well, I’m not equipped to carry you further on land.”

Trevor felt something move, like a wiggling leg, expect it wasn’t a fucking leg. It was one mass of muscles that knocked against his actual legs. Against the howling protests of his neck and back, he pushed up until he could catch the dark shape that matched the general appearance of a huge fish tail. The fuckery of his situation finally hit like a battering ram.

“Christ,” he whispered.

The siren snickered. “I’m impressed I got you this far into the cave. You’re practically a manatee, especially out of the water.”

Trevor found the yellow eyes and glared. Smug bastard. His family had hunted sirens for generations to protect human seafarers and coastal populations, but if any of his ancestors had met a siren like this prick, he could understand some Belmonts killing the creatures purely out of spite. _He_ really wanted to punch this one—the one pulling at his shirt again.

“Stop that!”

The siren hissed and tightened his fingers on Trevor’s sopping shirt. “I told you—”

“How do you even know what hypothermia is? You live in the depths of the fucking ocean!”

“My … my mother studied human physiology. She shared some of her knowledge with me.”

The ridiculous implications stumped Trevor enough that he belatedly fought for his shirt after the siren already had rucked it halfway up his torso, caught under his baldric. The siren touched Trevor’s exposed side, making him whine and flinch from pain and unexpected warmth in the fingertips.

“As someone who lives in the fucking ocean, even I can tell you’re freezing. Get your damn clothes off.”

Once the siren let go, Trevor found himself more willing to comply. At least he was doing it himself. It was fine slipping off the baldric. Didn’t go so easily when he started pulling the shirt off his head. Lines of lightning leapt up his body, scorching muscle and tendon with hot agony. He had to stop moving, hold still and pant through clamped teeth until the pain dulled to a bearable level. The siren’s hand came back and assisted with less coercion.

Trevor shivered harder. Goosebumps rose on his arms and chest. Maybe they were there before. But the cave protected them from the wind, and he did feel better not having the wet fabric clinging to him. That relief dissipated when the siren tugged at Trevor’s belt.

“I got it.” He wrestled the buckle from the slim, agile fingers and the fleeting touch of a sharp edge. Sirens were known to grow their nails long, nearly like claws.

Taking advantage of Trevor’s predicable insistence on undoing his own trousers, the siren moved, grinding the sand under his body. He seemed to be curling around and pushing himself into a quasi-seated pose while scooting toward Trevor’s feet. A subtle pulse of heat that bothered Trevor deeply accompanied the understanding that the siren intended to remove his boots. To make removing his trousers easier, obviously. Not only his trousers, but every layer of clothing apart from his underwear, which the siren had the inexplicable wherewithal to let Trevor keep on after the fuss about the other articles.

The pain had worsened from all this wriggling to undress. Trevor didn’t bother holding back a complaining groan. He thumped his head on the sand once they were done.

“All right,” said the siren. “Now lie on your stomach.”

“What?”

“Your stomach, Belmont. I’m going to check if you have any broken or dislocated bones.”

Trevor complied, again sideswiped by disbelief. Only afterward did an important insight occur to him. “How do you know my name?”

The siren hesitated. When he spoke, he shuffled closer. “Your family name is widely known among my people.”

“But how—” Trevor stopped with a hiss when the siren’s hand (no claws, thank God) began its prying examination of his sore back. “How do you know I’m a Belmont?”

“I heard the other humans calling you that.”

Trevor had to sit, or lie, on that fact for a minute. “Were you following my ship? And eavesdropping?”

Sirens were hunters, just as the Belmonts were, but Trevor had not known of sirens stalking ships to listen to people’s conversations. They trailed boats for the same reason wolves tracked a herd of deer or elk. They were interested in cornering their quarry, not mining personal information about the humans they were gunning to drown and exsanguinate.

The siren took his sweet time answering. “Perhaps.”

“Got a special reason why?”

Another pause. “Define ‘special.’”

“Why were you following my fucking boat, siren?”

“I’m not a siren.” He pressed two fingers against one of Trevor’s vertebrae with extra force.

_Fucking cockwart_. Trevor nearly tore his lip fighting back a cry. “Fine, whatever! Why were you following my ship?”

“Tell me first why you insist on calling my people sirens.”

“I don’t know.”

Not a good enough answer. His asshole of a rescuer said nothing. In the waiting silence and gradual adjustment to the fingers on his skin, Trevor sifted through his mental catalogue of the family bestiary. God, this jackass was forcing him to remember trivia that had been drilled into his brain over a short-lived childhood.

“’Sirens’ is a term for creatures that have supernatural voices,” he finally supplied.

“I’ve understood differently. I’ve only heard it used for the people of the _Sirenum scopuli_. They have feathers and wings. More like birds than sea creatures.”

“Right. I don’t know what else to tell you. Just one of those things people change or get confused about and it sticks after a while.”

“I prefer the term ‘merman.’ At least it’s clear about where our people live.”

“Fine. Still haven’t answered my question, _merman_.”

The fingers left his back and combed up into his hair. Trevor stilled, ready for a yank at the roots. The fingers paused in a firm grip. Then they moved up and away to the tips of Trevor’s black locks. They did this a few times with some ruffling. They were shaking the water out of his hair. He hated that it was kind of nice. Even when the long nails scratched his scalp.

“I was satisfying a little curiosity. I learned enough about humans as a child to find them intriguing, but not enough to really know what they’re like. I’ve followed a few ships and observed your people, including you and your crew.”

That sounded suspicious. Trevor didn’t imagine sirens—mermen, merfolk, whatever—being all that intelligent. He liked to think of them as mere predators, like sharks, a threat that needed to be minimized as much as possible. And why would a merman find humans interesting? Maybe they were not only smarter than expected, but they could strategize to outwit human prey. Or human hunters.

Then why the hell had this one saved him? An uncomfortable question to ponder when the hand of the same merman was touching him with knowledgeable ministrations.

“Good so far,” the merman said. “Now your front.”

His front? Trevor looked over his shoulder. “Uh, is that necessary?”

“Yes.”

“Because …?”

His eyes were acclimating to the darkness enough that, while specific features apart from the eyes remained obscured, he could see the merman’s mouth stretch up at the corners. “Afraid you’ll enjoy it?”

“Maybe I don’t want to be molested by somebody who doesn’t trim their nails.”

“This is a survival measure, Belmont. Would you rather be uncomfortable or dead?”

“Choice B isn’t as unappealing to me as you might think.”

The glowing eyes rolled away from him. “Of all the humans I should end up saving …”

He wrapped what turned out to be _incredibly_ strong fingers around Trevor’s shoulder. With no help from him, the merman flipped him onto his back. With a brusqueness suited to a detached doctor or a tired mother, he wiped the sand off Trevor’s chest and stomach, both of which had hair and were still damp. “What family do you have waiting for you?” he asked.

Trevor bristled at the question. Then he understood: an offered distraction from the frontal inspection he was about to receive. Truth was that Trevor was starting to feel warm from the effect of the light touches on his back, despite the soreness. Maybe thinking about other things and the persistent pain would be enough to bear with this, as the merman phrased it, survival measure.

“None, really. None that I’m sure of. Our family home—” He stumbled from a combination of the merman’s fingers on his collarbone, the nearness of those golden eyes, and the brush of long, draping, wet hair on his skin. Trevor had to turn his eyes up to the black cave ceiling to keep talking.

“O-our home was burned down by the Church. They thought we dabbled in black magic. I think they were just scared of how good we were at dealing with monsters. Different branches of the clan specialized in different types of monster-hunting. There are probably some Belmonts roaming the country that I’ve not seen in years. But … parents, siblings, they’re gone. Just the ships left. And the armory and the library on the family estate. The crew are people I’ve met along the way, brave enough or stupid enough or desperate enough for coin to help me do my family’s work. They’re mostly a good lot. Some I could do without. I don’t know if I’d call them family, but …”

He didn’t know where to go from there without dipping into waters that were, amazingly, more dangerous than this merman’s hand on him. Which was less terrible the longer he kept at it. Except when he ran the tips of his fingers along his hip, sending a bolt down Trevor’s spine. Hadn’t felt like that on his back.

“When was your home attacked?” the merman asked.

“I don’t remember exactly. Years ago. I was … maybe fourteen. Or thirteen.”

“And since then, you’ve been all but living on the sea.”

“I guess.”

“On your own.”

“Until I got the crew together.”

“But they’re not your family.”

“… can we change the subject, please?”

That smile again. The merman was leaning closer than necessary if Trevor could see it. “What do you propose?”

“I’ve told you about me. Now tell me about you. Your family.”

Trevor grew worried over the silence the merman lapsed into while his hand kept trekking up and down his sides. Now he wanted the bastard to press harder and bring back bright blooms of pain to smother the opposite sensation filling him up.

“Well,” the merman said, and Trevor breathed a little easier. “I have brothers and sisters. Different mothers, same father. They’re all older than I. I get along with them well enough, but we aren’t as close as we could be. I’ve spent more time in the company of books than my kin.”

Trevor debated over which vein to follow. If he went on about family, the questions might come back round to his own. “How can you read books underwater?”

“We don’t use ink, and the paper is made from seaweed, not trees. It’s a different manufacturing process. We scratch or chisel our writing. Librarians in our court have spent many years transcribing old texts from stone tablets onto paper for easier storage and mobility.”

Trevor blinked, suitably surprised and distracted, even from the fact that the merman had slowly dropped into a more reclined position next to him, bringing his face close enough that Trevor could feel his breath.

“I didn’t think your people had a whole culture down there.”

“Most of my people don’t know the extent of your people’s cultures, either.”

“But you do.”

“Well … my mother was human.”

Trevor turned, quick and thoughtlessly. A new lick of pain lanced up his side. He winced but soldiered on. “You’re shitting me! How is that possible?”

“You don’t want to know the details. I wish I didn’t, but my mother was a doctor and insisted I have a _thorough_ education.”

“Oh, God.” Trevor snorted. “She didn’t—”

“She did,” the merman grumbled.

Trevor laughed, then groaned from his muscles straining against the laughter. “Fuck.”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

Even knowing what would happen, he couldn’t cage his giggle. The price was another sharp spasm. “Shit. Stop that.”

“Stop what?” But the merman was giggling, too. He fed into Trevor’s urge, bringing more pain and more giggles.

“Ow. Asshole. I can’t breathe.”

“Debatable. Nothing feels broken or out of place. Bruised, yes, but rest will tend to that. Do you feel cold?”

He was shivering, but that might have been from both the cool night and an involuntary reaction to being touched in sensitive spots. “Yeah.”

“Good. It means you’re not going into shock. If I have the strength, I’ll search the beach for something dry to wrap you in. For now, we need a more immediate alternative.”

Trevor had two seconds to brace himself for some more wildly uncharacteristic medical knowledge for a merman. He was disarmed by the pressure of the merman’s entire torso and the consuming circle of his arms. Well-toned arms. Well-toned chest and stomach, too. The merman was probably about two hundred pounds, five percent body fat, including the tail that had slipped between Trevor’s knees.

Trevor gasped. “What—how—how’s this helping?”

The merman spoke with his mouth next to Trevor’s cheek. “Skin-to-skin contact will stop some of your heat from escaping. It’s more ideal with a blanket or sheet around us, but it will have to do until something washes up on shore.”

Trevor could smell ocean brine in the long hair now curtaining his vision. The skin was slightly warm in the chest area, cool in the arms. How much was this helping? He wondered if his heart thumping and pumping blood at a faster pace was keeping him warm or putting him more at risk of shock.

He shut his eyes and reached for any topic that could help him ignore where he was, what he was feeling. Only one thought, one question, took shape.

“Why are you trying to save me?”

The merman breathed steadily. It would have been easy to assume the question went unheard, but the tension in his hold on Trevor spoke of having perfectly heard and comprehended the question and devoting a minute to give an answer. Trevor nearly hoped he wouldn’t if it was such a struggle to put the reason into words. He was growing self-conscious about it, as well as how his own arms stayed fixed to himself, leaving the merman’s embrace unreturned. The point was only to keep him warm, anyway.

One minute dragged into the next, silent as the last. Trevor sighed and slowly, as though he might spook his rescuer, rested a hand on the merman’s waist.  

_He might still bite me_. If that was the cost of all this effort to save him, it wasn’t the worst outcome.

“You’d have to be a pretty repulsive individual for me to let you drown,” the merman said. “From what little I know of you, you’re not.” He paused. “I know you saved that boy and nearly killed yourself for the trouble.”

“Oh.” Trevor hiccupped a dry chuckle. “Well, it was my ship. I couldn’t abandon it until I knew it was lost and everyone else got off. It’s kind of a rule when you’re the captain.”

“Not one everyone follows. Whether from selfishness or cowardice, certain people in your position would not have done what you did.”

“I don’t like to run away from trouble. Problem is, I end up heading right for it. Which is how I got here.” Cold, hurt, tired, nearly naked, and in the arms of a creature he’d spent so much of his life learning how to destroy. Trevor found himself smiling. “I’m not afraid to die. I’m only afraid of not having done my best first.”

The merman raised his head. The eyes, no more than droplets of light in the dark, fixed on Trevor’s face. Trevor stared in return and tried to remember all the horror stories of angelic-voiced, blood-drinking monsters of the deep passed down through his family. He was having a much harder time of it than usual.

“I’m not going to let you die, Belmont.”

Heart rate kicked up a notch. Trevor dropped his gaze. His face was warmer than the rest of him. “Come on. You don’t really know me.”

“I don’t have to know you. But what I do know makes saving you that much more worth it.”

“Shut up.”

A palm slid up his shoulder blades. Fingers anchored in his hair. They pulled near the nape, hard enough to make him grunt in objection while also tilting back in compliance. The eyes were twin moons from being so close. Warm breath danced over his nose and lips.

“You’re not repulsive,” the merman muttered, “but you can be childish.”

“And you’re a paragon of maturity, are you? Hair-puller?”

“I’m one of tact compared to you.”

“Says the merman who’s been stalking my ship. You risked your neck just to sate your childhood curiosity about my species. I doubt most of my crew would be half as nice to you as I am right now.”

“I’m well aware you’re only tolerating my presence because you’re in too much pain to fight me.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to tolerate your fish breath.”

“Nor I your ale-and-piss breath.”

“How do you know what ale and piss smell like?”

“Because your lot keep polluting my home with them.”

“Shows what you know. I’d never let anyone waste beer on my ship. And I’m a lager man, not an ale man.”

He could hear the merman’s smirk. “I take it piss doesn’t go to waste, either?”

“I hear fish drink their own piss all the time. Sounds like the pot calling out the kettle.”

A long pause. “What?”

Trevor would’ve laughed in triumph if he didn’t remember just in time how it would wreck him. Instead he snorted, giving only his sinuses pain.

A sigh sang through the merman’s fangs. “Fuck you.”

“Eat shit,” Trevor said on the tail-end of coughed giggles.

The hand that had him by the scruff went lax. It slipped forward and cupped his face. That threw a damper on his humor. As he felt that sardonic armor slip, exposing raw confusion and bubbling expectation, he grabbed for whatever protection he could get—goading.

“Changing your mind about keeping me alive?”

“It’s being considered,” the merman said. “I didn’t think I was someone who’d leave a man to die from neglect and exposure.”

Trevor, smiling, was ready to own up to bringing out that urge in many people.

“I also never thought I’d consider kissing someone whose breath smells like beer, piss and vomit.”

The prepared quip evaporated into instant mist. The pungent flavor on Trevor’s tongue came into wince-worthy clarity. “You’re a horrible liar,” he grumbled before thinking the words through.

“What exactly am I lying about?”

“You know damn well what.”

“I swear to you that I’ve never kissed someone with disgusting breath before.”

“And you’re not going to.”

The teasing in the merman’s voice dropped out. “I wasn’t going to insist.”

Shit. This had to be a ruse. All a convoluted act. And it was doing a fine fucking job of messing with his head. “What the hell is your deal? First you rescue me, then boss me around, insult me, then say nice shit, then say you’re gonna … will you make up your goddamned mind what you want with me?”

The deadened stare reminded Trevor in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t dealing with a human—as if the reflective eyes weren’t a fucking clue.

“I want you to rest, Belmont, and heal up. And stay warm. That is all we need to worry about.” He felt the merman’s words against his mouth. The hand left his face and returned to the middle of his back.

Trevor felt his throat sticking in on itself as the merman fell into what sounded like wordless disappointment. They lay for a while, entwined but separated by a gulf of difficult questions. Trevor had been honest about the fish breath; turning his head up just a couple inches spared him from the direct hit of the smell. The heated puffs of air still played on his lip and chin.

“If you prefer,” the merman said, “you could turn over and I could hold you from behind.”

Trevor raised an eyebrow. “You want to spoon me?”

The eyes narrowed. “What’s spooning?”

“It’s … what you described. What spoons do.”

“What are spoons?”

Trevor’s sigh tangled with a laugh. “Never mind. Actually … if you’re fine with it, I might … it might be better if I rest my head on your chest.”

“Oh.” Nothing but distant surf. “That would be fine, I suppose.”

“Don’t lose your shit over it.”

The words flopped like a fish on deck. The merman was already shifting onto his back as he spoke, and Trevor followed as he answered. Thanks to their previous cuddling, the smooth, firm, cushioned chest now under Trevor’s cheek was mildly warm. Better than sand, that’s for sure. And no more complaints about bad breath from either side.

“Don’t rub too much,” the merman said. “Your scruff itches.”

“There’s fucking sand everywhere. We’re already itchy.”

“Indeed.” One hand brushed the very same granules off Trevor’s back. The motion changed into a casual caress that, he could presume, was supposed to help ease his still throbbing, battered body. Trevor shivered.

“Maybe I should look for something to wrap you in instead,” the merman said quietly.

“I’m fine,” Trevor mumbled. Not sure why. Maybe he was starting to relax. It could have been thanks to the rhythm of the merman’s heart beneath his ear. Or the swell and dip of his chest, like ocean waves buoying a ship, the seafarer’s lullaby. How late was it? Was it safe for him to sleep? Surely Doctor Merman would’ve told him if it wasn’t, his being the expert in this. So Trevor let his eyelids fall. He let himself enjoy the warmth, including places where the merman’s hand drew circles with the flat of his palm. The pain was losing its power to interfere with the pleasant tingle summoned by his touch.

“Your family name is Belmont.”

Trevor groaned. Did they have to talk? “Yeah.”

“What name did your parents give you?”

All right, fair enough. “Trevor.”

The soundless void that followed suggested that the subject was closed as quickly as it had been opened. Now, of course, Trevor’s curiosity was piqued. “What’s your name?”

After a few seconds, he heard the deep inhale and the parting lips. Right when a _boom_ like a deep drumbeat rang across the water.

They both sat up. Trevor could feel the rising chest and hear his companion displacing the sand. He stared as hard as he could out into the night. The beach was a shade lighter than the sea and sky. If there had been a flash of ignited gunpowder, he’d missed it.

“A cannon?” he asked.

“To alert survivors, perhaps,” the merman said.

_Like me_ , Trevor thought. His chest knotted up like an anxious python.

“I’m not going to drag you out there,” the merman said. “They’ll just have to make their way over here to find you. You’re better off staying out of the wind until morning.”

“I guess. Otherwise I’d have to get dressed.”

“And your clothes are not dry.”

Trevor would’ve checked them himself if he had any idea where the merman had flung them to. The only object he could feel in the darkness was the chest he’d just been resting on.

A hand lay on his shoulder. “Still in pain?”

Sitting up had cost him some of that comfort he’d slipped into just now. “If my life depended on it, I could crawl out of here on my own.” Like a drunk caterpillar, probably.

“Do you think it does?” The weight of his hand was light, letting Trevor know he could shake it off if he wanted.

“I sure as hell wouldn’t be using your chest as a pillow if it were.”

The eyes gleamed. “Maybe that was my whole plot.”

Trevor rolled his eyes. “In that position, you’re more likely to get bitten by me.”

“Is that a threat, or a promise?”

“God, you’re obnoxious. Lie down so I can get some sleep.”

The merman chuckled. He squirmed until he lay at ease on his back once more. “Now I wonder who’s playing the seducer.”

“Just shut the hell up,” Trevor whispered while his head found that nice nook right below the merman’s collarbone.

“Are all humans as rude as you?” The merman petted his hair, maybe checking if it was any drier.

“Oh, I’m a ray of sunshine next to a lot of them. Are all merfolk infuriating wankers, or are you the exception?”

“I don’t think many of them would be thrilled to learn I saved a human.”

The smile that had crept up Trevor’s mouth fell. “Is it taboo or something?”

“Generally frowned upon. Centuries of prejudice. Some I imagine understandable on both sides.”

“Yeah, well, your kind do tend to _eat_ us.”

“And your kind tend to use that as vindication for genocide.”

Trevor huffed. “We have a right to defend ourselves.”

“And we have a right to sustenance for survival.” The empty air between the merman’s sentences was as heavy as a boulder. “I suppose merfolk and humans were never meant to get along.”

Trevor believed it, and yet here and now he didn’t want to. Stupid, of course. He was letting the merman’s murmuring, glassy voice coax him into false security. Gratitude could be blamed, too. It was no small thing in his mind to save someone’s life, especially when they weren’t on the same side in nature’s ultimate death match. Perhaps the real culprits were the ones who chose not to play by the rules years ago—this merman’s human mother and fish-tailed father.

These rationalizations swirled and spiraled down the drain, leaving only one person to blame: Trevor. Trevor and his stupid commitment to protecting his crew. His stupid willingness to listen to a siren when a better Belmont wouldn’t have hesitated to fight, even if the pain killed him before or after. His stupid heart for not being sensible and instead thrumming a little faster as the gentle fingers and elongated nails drew dizzying patterns on his skull.

_Go the fuck to sleep. Forget it all. Deal with this shit in the morning when you can move more than a few inches without whining._

“Forget it,” he mumbled, echoing his thoughts, then forgetting what he actually meant to say.

The hands paused, in his hair and on his back, as though trying to hold this moment. “I wish I could.”

Why those words in that small, splintered voice, as wrong to hear as seeing a crack in a stained-glass window, called back Trevor to wakefulness, he opted not to examine. Lethargy scurried away like the surf from the shoreline before the next crash. He had enough time to raise himself, straddle the merman on knees and forearms, and shuffle until their gazes were aligned, above and below.

The merman’s hands didn’t quite let go. They braced on Trevor’s shoulders. “What?” he breathed.

No one who knew Trevor Belmont could argue he was a man of action. Nor could they argue that he was _not_ a man of words. He’d come all this way to be literally face to face with his rescuer, his tormentor, his maddening companion in the cool, lonely darkness, without a clear word in his head. He did have words—a lot of them—all jumbled, many of them inappropriate to what he did know he wanted to get across. Given a few moments, which the merman bore with increasingly confusion, Trevor got his thoughts into the eye of the storm inside his thumping heart and came out the other side with what he desperately hoped was plain, comprehensible truth.

“You saved my life. I don’t care about the rest. It’s good enough for me.”

Okay, good. Not bad. Better leave it there. But the golden eyes searched for more.

_That’s all I got_ , he thought with rising heat in his cheeks. Fuck it, even when he tried—

He hadn’t noticed how far down he’d dipped his head until the merman stole away the few inches between them. The impact of his mouth meeting Trevor’s bounced the latter’s thoughts around. They lost all their keen focus. Then it didn’t matter. He didn’t need words to understand or act. He listened to the rush of breath, in and out, through the merman’s nose and his own. He followed the short fall of the merman’s head back to the ground without losing the kiss. When it ended, he barely needed a second to read the air and the tension coiling their bodies against each other before meeting the merman in another kiss. And another. One after the other, softer and slower than the last.

The strong arms cinched more tightly around him. His curled fingers found some purchase in the sand. Heat spread through his chest, down to his groin, but it wasn’t wild fire. It was the sun coming out after a long, cloudy, rain-spitting day, with a tender breeze playing on your face. The kind of day you need after rough weather—not a swelter, but a balmy reprieve that steadies everything around and within you. For once, everything is okay. You’ve got your footing, and the world is smiling for it. The needle of the compass is still and pointing to truth north.

If anyone had told him that kissing someone could feel like that, he’d have tried it years ago. Even if he’d been told it had to be a merman.

He had no idea how long it lasted. It felt like forever in the best way. At the end of it, he was so tired that he barely had the energy to be embarrassed about how tired he was just from snogging. The merman didn’t mention it. After their last kiss, so drawn out and lazy it should’ve been funny instead of mind-cleansing and incredible, they lingered with noses and foreheads nudging each other. Trevor pulled up the moment he started to feel himself nod off. The fuzzy flutters of arousal couldn’t keep him awake. He chuckled and gave a half-smile by way of apology, then moved back and rested his head on the merman’s chest like before.

He never knew if the merman smiled or frowned and rolled his eyes. He was mostly all right with not knowing. It was enough to feel those hands resting on him, holding on. Sleep came in a rush, but he managed to catch the merman’s delicate words amid the dull roar of blood in his ears and the ocean churning right outside.

“Good night, Trevor.”

 

*-*

 

There was more than the usual sandy crusting on his eyes when he awoke. Brisk sea air filled him as Trevor breathed and rubbed all grit from his eyelids. He didn’t immediately remember where he was. He felt wrapped in warmth and wanted to cuddle against a familiar shape that, as soon as his face turned and found more sand, he knew was no longer there. Another few seconds were needed to recall what he had expected to find.

He shuffled onto his knees, holding the canvas around him before noticing it. When he did, it was like a knife running slow and slick through his chest and guts. Pieces were burned. They flaked off in cinders. There was still enough to be a blanket and protect his bare skin. He clung to it while checking the rest of the cave, knowing what he wouldn’t see and hoping he was wrong.

_I could’ve dreamed it all._

And when did he have that active an imagination? And would he have splayed his clothes this neatly if he’d hauled himself from a shipwreck?

He picked up the shirt first. The left breast and the back of the shoulders were emblazoned with the Belmont crest. His family’s legacy: a golden cross at the heart of a shield with vines growing from the top and bottom. The symbol of a protector. That’s what he’d grown up believing. Now it was hard to know what to think of it. Still a Belmont, born to guard the human world against monsters. What was that merman, then? A monster he would someday need to kill?

_You saved my life. That’s good enough for me._

He could picture his father rubbing his forehead against a brewing headache, born from his only son’s naivete. His uncles and aunts lecturing him. His sisters and cousins laughing or slapping him upside the head. Monsters weren’t noble. They always had an ulterior, destructive motive.

Numbness crept into his fingers. He lowered his hands. They kept gripping the shirt.

There had been a few moments last night that, in the young daylight, he could’ve twisted with suspicion. The merman hadn’t tried to draw anyone’s attention to Trevor’s location. He could’ve swum to that ship with the cannon and led the crew to the cave rather than leave Trevor isolated.

Yes, and he could’ve been harpooned for all his trouble. There wasn’t any reasonable way out of it. The merman saved him for no other reason than to preserve a life.

Trevor bit his lower lip. He tasted his upper one. He couldn’t help a small smile. Maybe there was a second reason, too.

Well, it didn’t matter now. The merman was gone. The soreness had dissipated enough that he could put his shirt back on. So that was what he did. He pushed off the sail and pulled on the stiff, stinking garment.

“Hello?”

The rosy voice carried with a watery echo from the cave opening. Trevor snapped his head around. The person was silhouetted by the early morning glare. Amorphous robes, a mop of short hair.

Trevor pulled the sail around his waist. He hadn’t grabbed his trousers or kilt or anything else. “Hello?”

The person moved into the cave with wary interest. A Speaker, if Trevor was identifying the robes correctly. Not someone he was expecting to bump into on the beach at this hour.

“Are you all right?” asked the … woman. Yes. She stayed close to the wall, as though she might need to lean on it for a quick one-eighty out of the cave and out of danger.

“Yeah. Just … getting dressed.”

She frowned. “Why are you undressed in a cave?”

Trevor huffed. “Why is a Speaker lurking around my cave?”

“This is your cave?” She glanced it over like she was reviewing his entire lifestyle. It didn’t meet her standards. “I hope you’re kidding.”

It was a little tempting to keep up the pretense. Trevor shook his head and himself out of the idea. “I needed shelter during the night. Just woke up.”

“Oh.” Her expression softened. “Were you in that shipwreck?”

“You heard about it?”

“The crew from the ship have been searching the shore and asking in town about their captain. Many of them assume he was lost in the storm.”

Trevor crushed down a groan as he reached for his trousers. “Captain of the Morning Star?”

“That’s it!”

“You’re looking at him.”

She gawked. “You _are_ kidding!”

“Not about that. Look, I’m in my knickers right now, so if you don’t mind.”

“Here,” she said, suddenly smiling, “give me the blanket.”

She meant the sail, and either way Trevor announced his distrust and discomfort on his face.

The Speaker didn’t wait for him to change his mind. She came over and held up her hands. “Hold it up! I’ll preserve your modesty.” A laugh twinkled in her words.

Trevor grumbled, then carefully unwrapped the sail and raised it so her view of him was always blocked. She pinched the fabric at the corners and lifted it as a screen above her head. She stood behind him so no one who might show up at the cave entrance would catch a peek.

“So, Captain of the Morning Star,” she said, “how did you manage to not die?”

“Got lucky.” It impressed him how easily that glib response came. It wasn’t really a lie.

“We could see the washed-up wreckage from the cliff. There was a terrible fire, wasn’t there? An explosion?”

Trevor delayed answering to get one leg through his trousers. He hissed at a cramp. “Is it your people’s doing that word is traveling so fast?”

“We gather stories, so maybe. But the amazing thing is that there are practically no casualties. The only person they’re afraid is dead is, well, you.”

_I would’ve been without him._ He had to make a point not to look at the depression in the sand that looked the right size for the body he’d slept on top of last night. He stumbled but stayed on his feet with his other foot in the left trouser leg.

“So … you dragged yourself all the way up here?” The Speaker’s voice was directed away from him. She must have noticed the tracks that dug a wide, shallow rut from the beach into the recess. Heat prickled his neck. Would she deduce what kind of creature made those marks? If she assumed he’d made them alone, then he’d have a chance to scuff up the trail before he left this place for good.

“Pretty much,” he said. “The surf pushed me in. I could barely move.”

“You must have quite the willpower.”

Trevor laid a steely edge to his words. “Like I said, I got lucky.” It felt more like a lie this time.

The Speaker blew a breath, as though pushing a strand of hair out of her face by air alone. “You really don’t know how to take a compliment, do you?”

“I don’t get them often, so I guess not.”

A thoughtful silence. “I have heard that some people weren’t exactly sad at the news of your demise. Why is that?”

“Not sure it’s any of your business.” He finished closing the buckle. “There. You can drop the sheet now.”

“I swear, if you flash me …” There was equal warning and coyness. She lowered the sail. “Ah, good. You look less like a vagabond. Or a pervert. I confess both possibilities crossed my mind when I saw you.”

“And yet you came into the cave.” He turned on her with a smirk.

“And leave you to frighten someone else? I think not. So, who are you? I mean, what’s your name?”

“Trevor Belmont.”

“Belmont?” The soft reverence made him flush. He busied himself with the rest of his clothes. “That might explain your incredible endurance, if you really hunt monsters. Does it also explain your lack of popularity in certain places?”

“Might be the Belmont name, or it might just be me. Monster killing doesn’t pay much these days, so we pick up odd jobs for the right price. Jobs that might tick off people in authority.”

“Hmm. I can see how that would make you friends.” She looked at the sail and, good humor snuffed, finally saw it for what it was. “Is … is this from your ship?”

“I think so. Unless some other poor bastard with a ship had the same luck I had last night.”

She looked stricken, like she was aware of what he might feel when he stepped outside and saw the refuse from his once proud vessel. To her credit, she didn’t stop him. She preferred leaving the cave beside him, sandaled feet matching his boots in pace. They came out and went as far as the high-tide line, exposed as grey wet sand, before Trevor stopped. The Speaker did the same.

Chunks of the ship’s skeleton could be seen among the drifting or settled rubbish. He recognized this section of the hull, that bench, this storage chest, that bird’s nest railing. He felt like his stomach had been scooped out, leaving too little to feel grief, desperation or anger.

If he felt any longing, it drew his eye to the sea, past the shattered wood and blackened sails, to the dark blue expanse and the question in his heart.

“I’m sorry for your ship,” the Speaker said gently.

Trevor’s stare hung on the water. The waves stole up the sand, but further out it seemed so serene. Did he have a hope of gazing through its deceptive surface and seeing golden eyes?

The Speaker had the right idea. This was exactly what he _shouldn’t_ be worried about. He’d lost his ship, the source of his livelihood and family legacy.

“It’s just a boat,” he said. His voice was filled with gravel.

“Yes,” she conceded, “but it was a sort of home, I imagine. It’s not wrong to grieve for it.”

“But pretty soon I’ll have to look into getting another one.” Finally, he pulled himself back to the beach and the broken boards and frayed rope littering the area. “Still.”

“But be glad to be alive, too.” She smiled. “I’m Sypha Belnades, by the way.”

The smallest smile snuck up on Trevor. “What brought you here?”

“My grandfather and I wanted to be sure there were no stray survivors, and to provide aid if there were.”

“I’m fine now. I should get back to town.” Trevor set himself to what he presumed was a sensible pace, a bit brisker than the one from earlier when he left the cave. Dizziness swept through his skull. Muscles barked at him. He staggered and stopped.

“We’ll go back together.” Sypha looped her arm around his.

“I’m fine—”

“Your body says otherwise. Don’t be a man-baby.”

Trevor sighed. “Only until we get to the closest tavern. I need a drink.”

Sypha leveled the most disapproving stare. She would’ve made his father proud. “It’s the morning, Trevor.”

“The morning after last night’s adventure.”

One eyebrow went up. Then she shrugged. “Fine. But let’s not celebrate your not being dead with a pub brawl.”

“I’m for it if everyone else decides not to be an asshole.”

Sypha’s exasperation and their snipes and jokes and questions were a much-needed anchor. Yet Trevor caught himself peering at the water. He nearly died out there. Sypha said it was understandable if he needed time away from sailing. He felt the opposite. He didn’t know exactly what he would do once he had a new ship, but it would happen soon. He knew it the way he knew each time he and Sypha took a pause in their chatter, he’d hear that stained-glass voice, like an echo that refused to disappear. Maybe he didn’t want it to just yet.

_I never got his name_ , he realized just before they left the beach.


End file.
